


I keep you in this heart of mine

by givemelove7



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givemelove7/pseuds/givemelove7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Clasico fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I keep you in this heart of mine

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a gloomy mood so I wanted to write some fluff. :)

_Come away with me in the night..._

The room was quiet, or at least as quiet as a room in a big city could possibly be. Besides the sound of the wind and the traffic in the distance, the only recognizable sound was the sound of breathing, gradually going from fast, harsh, erratic to slow, even. Sex after El Clasico was always like that, fast and harsh. Sometimes to prolong the euphoria of a win against their oldest rivals, sometimes trying to chase that feeling of satisfaction that remained unreachable on the pitch.

Sergio was half on top of Iker, one of his legs swung across both of Iker’s, hand on his heart, feeling the beat slowing down along with his breathing. Iker’s hand was caressing short hairs on Sergio’s neck.

The silence was interrupted by Iker muttering the tune of a song that Sergio recognized immediately.

“Really? Today of all days you decide to sing a Shakira song?”

A short laugh came out of Iker’s mouth. “Okay, no Shakira today.”

“I miss your hair.” Iker once again broke the silence.

“The blonde one?” Iker just chuckled at the suggestion. Even years later, all he managed to get out of Sergio was that it was a lost bet. To whom or about what, he had no idea and it seemed it would stay that way forever.

“I loved how soft it was, how amazing it always smelled. How it always found a way to tickle my nose when I wanted to sleep, no matter how you tied it. How good it felt to grab it when you were blowing me. “ Iker ranted, continuing to run his fingers through the remaining of Sergio’s hair.

“Mm I miss that one too.”, Sergio responded, smiling into Iker’s chest at the memory of Iker’s strong hands guiding him, controlling him, owning him.

“I also hated it though. I hated it because everyone was always touching it. Touching you.” Faces of teammates, old and present, Madrid or La Roja, even players of the rival teams – everyone was always touching Sergio, so carelessly, so openly. Kiss on the cheek here, pat on the ass there, hands on hips, hands on shoulders, hands in hair – as if Sergio was a magnet. As if it was impossible to stay away from him. It surely was to Iker. Iker always thought the gold skin tone of Andalusian people came from the sun above them, bathing them in more sunlight than any other region of Spain, but knowing Sergio for 10 years, he realized that the hue of his skin, the sparkle in his eyes, the warmth of his touch came from the sun trapped inside him.

No answer came from Sergio so Iker was sure he had fallen asleep. He wouldn’t miss the opportunity to make a joke about his “Property of Iker Casillas” underwear – a present from Isco, that little shit.

Listening to Sergio’s deep breathing, feeling his heart beating under Sergio’s palm, Iker’s mind was completely off the game. He knew deep down in his soul that he would survive never again hearing the roar of Bernabeu fans after a save, a goal, a win, a trophy, as long as he could continue hearing Sergio’s moans caused by his hands, his lips, his hips. He would survive never again seeing the red and gold of Spanish flags as they celebrated another trophy as long as he could see the gold of Sergio’s skin, intersected with the black of his growing tattoos that Iker could recreate by heart. He would survive never again tasting the flood of champagne on the field, in the dressing room, in the team bus or plane, as long as he could taste Sergio’s lips every morning. He would survive never again feeling the cold metal of yet another trophy under his fingers as long as his hands could continue bringing pleasure to Sergio’s body.

_I wanna walk with you on a cloudy day..._


End file.
